Blue is the Color of
by McRose
Summary: Author:  Janlaw.  Harm and Mac at home in San Diego.  Some blue paint.  A darling little daughter.  Even a bison frisee puppy to add to the fun.


Blue is the Color of….Boas and M & M's

Author:Janlaw

Disclaimer: All the usual legalese. Just borrowing …sigh…

This story was originally written for the January 2007 HBX "challenge." It has been slightly revised and the epilogue added.

Dedicated to the "Harmybroads" of my favorite website. You make life so much fun.

Author's note: Harm and Mac's daughter, Mackenzie O'Hara Rabb 'Mahara' was born in May 2006 in London, as described in "Second Wind" by McRose, the writing team of Highplainswoman and Janlaw. That story ended with the 'MacRabb's' return to San Diego in November 2006. A sequel has been outlined, but alas, production difficulties have delayed it beyond the outline (that is a euphemism for saying that RL has interfered with our fun). If it is ever written, it will cover the period Dec 2006 – spring 2007.

LaJolla, California  
Mid-morning/Saturday  
June 2007

"Harm?" Mac sung out to her husband as she crossed the living room of Trish and Frank's guesthouse. With their work lives running at warp speed, Mattie's surgery and recovery, and Chloe's and her impending graduation from LaJolla Country Day School, it had just been easier to stay on in the cozy, comfortable cottage.

Intent on guiding his paintbrush along the doorjamb, the sound of the front door opening and closing hadn't registered, but his wife's voice –he'd know that voice anywhere – happily intruded. "Mac!" he exclaimed, whirling to the doorway. "I thought you'd said you wouldn't be in 'til this afternoon."

"Watch it Harmmm." Toooo late. Paint from the brush rotating in the air splattered in blue droplets onto Harm's head, arm, white tee shirt and the wooden door. The ball of fluff more formally known as a white bichon frisee scrambled back towards Mac.

"Awww…Harmykins …nearly got a blue bath did you," Mac cooed at the puppy, bending down to fluff his silky coat. "Sorry, no treats in these pockets for you."

Looking quizzically at Harm, she smirked. "The sky is blue, the sea is blue, my Sailor is blue, and did Frank and Trish ask you to paint the cottage blue?"

"Maaaac." How good it felt to banter back! "Do you have to call him 'Harmykins'? He'll get a complex."

"And 'Hammer' is better? Besides, I told you it's just for fun, in honor of the ladies on that website you keep sneaking peeks at!" She had him good now. "What '_nom de plume_' do you use to post? Maybe I should have Bud check the IPs…"

"Mac!" The drops of blue paint splattered further and Mac stepped back as Harm's whole body shook with mirth. "How do you know about that site?"

"I'm a Marine … I always know where you are –especially on the computer!" Mac relented. He was just so much fun to tease. "You always walk away from the computer without clicking out of where you are – of course I see the site you were in! It's the funnest site, though," she giggled, "those ladies even rhapsodize about your toes. Not to mention your catywampus ear. Anyway, I caught a NALO flight that was supposed to be here well before midnight last night. Famous last aviator words. Three unplanned stops across the country, including Missoula, Montana to refuel."

"So, where is our darling daughter? I want to give her a hug and shower and change." Fun was fun, but Mac was tired – it had been a long week of meetings, lectures and briefings, both given and attended. Ah….the life of a CO.

"Hug? Where's MY hug?" Harm advanced on Mac, still holding the paintbrush. "I'm the husband, don't I get the first hug?"

"And get blue paint all over me and my uniform? You wash first," Mac couldn't stop giggling at his puppy dog pout. "Where's Mahara?" she asked again.

"A.J.'s babysitting her, they're watching Sesame Street videos and building legos. That kid's so hung up on our kid, I don't even have to pay him, let alone bribe him. My hug?" he repeated, trying to inject a further hopeful, plaintive note of want and need into his rich voice. "A kiss?'' His eyebrows raised as he made kissing noises and grinned that 'flyboy' grin.

"The 8 year old is babysitting the 1 year old?" Mac just couldn't help twitting him. "And what will her father say when the 17 year old wants to take the 10 year old to the prom?"

Smirking at her husband's suddenly astonished bug-eyed face, she relented, digging into one of the cavernous pockets of her BDUs. "Catch!" she tossed the packet to Harm.

"Huh?" Harm's hand snagged the packet of chocolate kisses.

"A down payment on your hug and kiss; consider yourself Hershey-hugged and kissed. You should be flattered, that was Mahara's treat. I'll share mine with her," pulling a Ziploc baggie from another pocket of her cammies. "I had to keep feeding quarters into the geedunk machine to get enough."

"Enough what?" Harm waved the kisses at her, continuing to make kissing sounds.

"Blue M&M's, of course. Don't you remember, that's what all the HarmyBoard ladies eat. They wear blue boas too. I wonder if Mahara would like one for Halloween?"

"You wash up and come join us," Mac turned to go to the bedrooms chortling. "And if you get paint on the dog, you've got bath duty."

"Bath duty, eh?" Harm eyed the paintbrush and Mac with a gleam and a snicker. "Maybe some blue would add to the camo look."

"Uh uh – it's the shoes I saw on EBay while I was checking my email in the terminal that would add to the look. These fabulous greenish-olive-beige, sort of camo look Manolo's. With the most gorgeous rhinestone buckle at the toes."

"And I suppose they would be a cousin of those Choo-Choo shoes you like so much?" Now he had her good. Mac's shoe collection was a constant source of banter between the two.

"Cousin Blahnik? Now that would be a sight." Mac couldn't help it. It was just so good to be home. She pirouetted wide, arms outstretched and curving around.

"What are you doing?" Even as she spoke, Harm knew where she was at.

Reaching out carefully to avoid the paint splatter, Mac touched his arm. "Just making sure it's you."

"I'm hugging my life." Mac's voice caught, as the memory of something she'd said long ago flashed by. "I love our life Harm. Here with you and Mahara, I have everything I ever wanted."

Epilogue.  
Six days later.

The rectangular package arrived on Thursday, and Trish, who'd picked Mahara up from day care and gotten home first, left it on the entryway table. An hour later, Mac grabbed her mail and Harm's and the box, shrugging at the unfamiliar New York City return address.

Much later, she remembered to tell Harm, "A package came for you from New York – did you order something?"

Abandoning his daughter's pre-bedtime antics, he scrambled to his feet. "It's for you!"

Tearing the paper off the box, Mac gasped at the expensive prize. "Harm, you shouldn't have spent so much money! Just because I admired them didn't mean I'd buy them!"

"You didn't ….I did. I want to make sure you have what you said you wanted: 'a good man, a great career, and comfortable shoes….lots of them.'"

"I've got all that and more." Mac's voice was soft as she abandoned the gorgeous shoes to pull her 'good' husband into a kiss that as always, fast got out of control, until the dulcet tones of their toddler daughter rudely dragged them back to the present.

"Ma'ra M'rine." At 13 months, their daughter beamed at her parents, preening in her "I fly Navy" pajama top and marine green shorts. Holding the edge of the living room table, she teetered in the camo Manolo's, repeating, "Me a M'rine."

Life couldn't get any better.

The end.


End file.
